Recent Reads: Aaliyah Bilal's Temple Folk
I mark up my non-fiction reads all the time but never my fiction. It feels like marring the work of the author; the typesetter; and the book binder. My thoughts are an unnecessary addition. If I do want to write stuff down, I’d use a notebook (rarely) or my head (frequently, not always reliable).
I wish I’d marked up Temple Folk. Or had a notebook nearby. Not just to keep track of the Islamic terms and ceremonies unfamiliar to me but the layers!: the metaphors, the mirroring, the interiority. The things to parse are so many that I’m still thinking about them days later.
During an author’s talk, Aaliyah Bilal said she was committed to creating beautiful sentences, a feast for the reader. And she makes it look so easy! Temple Folk is a masterclass in crafting sentences for a larger purpose; of presenting a story whose point or “resolution” can be just as uncomfortable as the initial problem at the heart of the story. Because the people in Temple Folk are not always sure themselves; and those that are make choices that require a firm severance: with family; with community; with the manifestation of their belief.
In the first story, “Blue,” a woman named Sister Memphis considers the promise and comfort of the Nation of Islam for her own self-worth (her mother all but disowned her due to her dark skin) and meets her match in the sullen teenage daughter of a new member. In “New Mexico,” a Black FBI agent assigned to spy on the mistress of Elijah Muhammad reflects on his terrible relationship with his father, and learns a fact about the mistress that is in direct opposition to Nation tenets. “Woman in Niqab” looks at a young girl’s choice to forgo her hijab, as the protection and respect covering affords in theory is not the same as in practice. In “Nikkah,” a young Sunni convert’s search for love reveals rigid tendencies that threaten relationships with her Christian family and her close Muslim friend; and in “Candy for Hanif,” a woman’s duty to family and community at the expense of herself comes to a head. The catalyst: a request for Sister Lunell to bring back her “old-smothered steak” to the Temple menu. She won’t be; she’s been dead for three weeks.
The stories in Temple Folk are loosely connected via the presence of the character Iman Saleem. It is not until the final story, “Due North,” that the Iman moves from a comforting background presence to a destabilizing central focus. His death reveals lies and conflicts in his personal and spiritual life that throws his devout daughter into spiritual and emotional crisis. How to move forward when a key aspect of your world is not what you thought?
Bilal’s Temple Folk reveals the hypocrisy, sacrifice, and disconnect between what is needed in life and what your community, your religion, your family asks (demands) of you. The stories remind us that communities, be they familial or religious, are built upon dedication and devotion. There are women literally feeding the multitudes; men and women extending kindness and compassion to those who don’t ask for it (or don’t always deserve it); people that subsume themselves to reach a higher ideal. It is an act that spans religions. It can lead to zealotry. It can lead to recognition that one’s spiritual needs don’t only rest in the heavens.
I can’t remember her words verbatim (where were you, notebook!), but Bilal sees human connection, compassion, and cooperation as a spiritual practice. This thesis/mantra/fact of life is clear throughout Temple Folk. Spiritual sustenance is not only with Allah or another higher power. It is with the relationships we nurture and which nurture us. For what is life without that?